Not Now, Not Ever
by bubblegum-buddy
Summary: She is the first to pull back, and his eyes light with fear. "Don't abandon me. Not now. Not here. Not you." :Sufferer/Redglare:


**Title:** Not Now, Not Ever  
><strong>Fandom: <strong>Homestuck  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG/K+  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> Sufferer/Redglare  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Hinted sexuality, character death

He can hear the drums of war pounding in the distance. The smoky gray clouds are stained red by a sky he finds traitorous. How dare it mock him by painting itself his wretched color?

And then he swallows, lets the rock in his throat fall into the pit of his stomach. If even nature itself is against him, how is he to win this battle? Can he? Will he?

She calls his name and he turns. She is wearing her teal legislacerator's uniform, but it is different. New. Covered in red. His red. He can do nothing but open his arms for her, and she runs to him, clutches him close and refuses to let go.

"Redglare, I..." is all he can bring himself to say. His voice cracks and breaks like a twig covered in ice and snow, but his heart is warm. He whimpers, because she allows him to be weak and he allows himself to be weak _for_ her, and clutches her slender frame. In response, she runs her gloved fingers through his greasy, unwashed hair.

"I know." Her response is like her sense of justice: swift, simple, and full of honesty. Just like her. Yet there is an unusual air of gentleness in the phrase, the gentleness that she saves for him and him only.

It is she that pulls back first, and fear flashes in his eyes. _Don't abandon me. Not now. Not you._

She does not. She stands on the tips of her toes and places a soft kiss just at the corner of his lips. _I won't. Not ever. Not I._

Again, she says his name. His true name, not "Signless" or "Sufferer," but his true, given name. It does something to his heart that he cannot explain when she says his name. Red tears prick at the corner of his eyes, but he wipes them away. No, no, he cannot be weak now.

Her expression softens and she touches his cheek gently. She runs her fingertips all along the bones in his face, making tiny swirls in his skin with her touch. Again he swallows, and takes her slim wrist in his hand. Again he pulls her close, and he buries his face in her hair so that he may hide his expression. Again he tries to speak to her, but his voice fails him.

Tomorrow he may lose her. In fact, it is likely that he will. The very thought sends pain into his wrists, makes his blood feel like sharp ink about to cut him from the inside out. It hurts him, and surely this must be the worst pain he has ever felt. Nothing, nothing in this entire world could hurt more than the thought of losing Redglare.

She runs her hands down his chest, his stomach, and his sides, teasing the areas with touches too soft for him. She takes off her glasses and looks at him with the eyes only she permits him to see. They ask for one thing, one thing that will prove to her his love. One thing that could assure her that they could never truly be apart. One thing that would allow them to leave this world with no regrets.

He happily accepts, and leads her into his tent by the wrist. He blows out the light of the lantern and closes the flap. No one will disturb them, he is certain of that. There is a hole in the top of the tent, and it is under that that he begins to kiss her with more fervor than he had thought possible. He allows that traitorous sky to redeem itself by giving the most beautiful light to her body, and they do not stop until well into the night.

-

The next day he is captured. He does not resist.

He is stripped of his clothes and mocked openly by the highbloods. He does not respond.

He is asked by the Empress to take back his teachings. He does not recant.

He is chained and beaten and broken and put in irons to be flogged and executed. He does not retaliate.

But then he sees her. She is standing in the crowd, with the other legislacerators. But he can see that she is unhappy. He can see that this is not what she wanted to happen. She is so close that he can read her lips, and the perfect memory of her voice almost makes him feel like he can hear her.

_This is wrong. This is not justice. This is wrong. This is so, so wrong._

And then he sees it. He sees his true name play across her lips, and teal tears begin to drip down her cheeks. And he feels it. He is overcome by rage - how could these bastards have hurt her so badly that she, Neophyte Redglare, would cry openly? Not now, not her, not _ever-!_

And then he screams, and his world goes black.


End file.
